


Jabberwocky

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the future Mohinder and Sylar are forced to work together as part of the Resistance against The Company. Things are not quite as black and white as they appear to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jabberwocky

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Mylar Fic June prompt 10 Words Challenge -- "Remember"

“What time are we meeting Bennet tomorrow?” Mohinder asks while he unpacks folded shirts and pants from a suitcase.

Leaning against the bedroom’s doorframe Peter watches him make a stack for his shirts and a stack for his pants on the bed with a third pile for socks, boxers and pajamas. Mohinder picks up half of the shirt stack and turns towards his dresser drawer, glancing expectantly at Peter along the way.

“At four,” Peter answers as Mohinder lays his clothes carefully in the opened drawer and then returns for the second half of the stack. “Hopefully it will be a relatively painless information session.”

Mohinder smiles as he picks up part of his pants stack and uses a free hand to open the drawer below the one with his shirts. Curiously Peter notices that Mohinder is focusing his repacking on the left side of the drawers.

“With Bennet I’m afraid there’s no such thing as painless,” Mohinder cracks and catches Peter’s eye with a wink.

Peter returns the smile and replies, “Well at least we’ve got each other to share the pain…so India was good?”

“Fantastic actually,” Mohinder grins and pauses mid-step to completely address Peter. “My mother is doing quite well which is a relief. It makes being so far from her a bit easier to handle.”

“As happy as I am that the trip went well I’m glad you’re back,” Peter admits and watches Mohinder continue the task of repacking, trying to balance the rest of his pants and shirts before deciding that it is far more likely he will drop them both on the floor. Pants take priority as they are already firmly in hand and he awkwardly tosses the shirt stack back to the bed and crosses the room.

With the second half of the stack placed next to the other Mohinder stops and stares at the apparent imbalance in the refilled drawer. Lost in thought, Peter sees confusion in his knitted brow. A small shake of the head however and Mohinder leans over to spread the clothes out. Under Peter’s attentive gaze Mohinder does the same with his shirts.

Closing it Mohinder startles Peter out of his analytical rumination as he questions, “What’s going on Peter?”

Wide eyes lead Peter’s, “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Something’s on your mind. You’ve been distracted and watching me like a stalker,” Mohinder muses but there is a seriousness in the words that demands an answer. He closes his emptied bag, placing it on the floor, and sits on the edge of his bed with focused eyes on Peter.

Peter looks over his shoulder for no other reason than to avoid Mohinder’s far too aware stare. Mohinder reads the play of conflicting emotions that flutter across Peter’s face as he bites his inner lip, shifts his eyes about, and nervously runs his hand through his hair. As if some inner consensus has been reached Peter suddenly looks at him and says, “Okay Bennet didn’t want me to tell you this but I don’t think it’s fair for you to be blindsided.”

“What’s going on Peter?” Mohinder asks calmly.

Peter hesitates then steps forward and says, “Sylar will be there tomorrow.”

Mohinder’s eyes narrow while his sharp intake of breath is audible to both. He clenches his hands into fists then lets them relax.

“Mohinder?” Peter begins to ask but is interrupted by the response.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. Bennet cares for no ones thoughts and feelings but his own,” Mohinder states in a way that seems to be directed at Peter and the universe in general. “When Bennet said we had to work with Sylar we were all expected to bow down and accept it. No matter that he is a serial killer who tried to kill me, you, Matt—killed my father and so many others—hell, he tried to kill Claire which Bennet doesn’t seem so bothered by…”

Mohinder looks down at the hands he has rested in his lap and feels Peter’s eyes upon him. “And then there are these meetings where we’re all stuck together but no one will speak about the elephant in the room and Bennet knows that I despise Sylar and still…”

Mohinder looks up and sees that Peter’s expression seems almost sad. “How do you not get angry about this Peter?”

A broken smile accompanies Peter’s reply, “I guess I’ve had time to accept that some things are out of my control.”

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

_A floor lamp that spreads its focused glow on everything directly below then teeters out to hazy undefined edges is the only source of light in the living room. It sets a mood of quiet ease that is greedily entwined with a cadence of words that flows in an aurally soothing blanket. _

_“Nine times the space that measures day and night   
To mortel men, he with his horrid crew   
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf   
Confounded through immortal. But his doom   
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought   
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain   
Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes,   
That witnessed huge afflictions and dismay,   
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate…” _

_Mohinder’s voice drifts off and he looks up from the book he has propped up in his left hand against the armrest of the sofa. His free hand rests on Sylar’s chest and although the man appears to be sleeping with his head in Mohinder’s lap and his eyes closed, Sylar’s left hand lightly massages nearly ticklish fingers on Mohinder’s hand as it rests over top of his heart. _

_The silence prompts Sylar to open his eyes and gaze sleepily at Mohinder. _

_“Are you sure you want to hear me drone on?” Mohinder asks quietly, a hint of a smile highlighted in the fluorescent halo. _

_“Mmmm,” Sylar moans appreciatively. “I like listening to you read out loud.” _

_Exchanging an amused smile Mohinder finds where he left off and begins again. _

_“At once, as far as angels ken, he views   
The dismal situation waste and wild:   
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round   
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames   
No light, but rather darkness visible   
Served only to discover sights of woe,   
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace   
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes…” _

_The words, in the cloak of Mohinder’s voice, recapture the interrupted spell of collective seclusion in which they are the only inhabitants. _

_Sylar closes his eyes.   
_  
************ ********** ********** ********** **********   
**  
It is not much of an office in the dingy basement of a Chinatown tenement but for security purposes it suffices. Bennet flips through a handful of confidential folders detailing information on covert Company operatives and dangerous Specials that need to be tracked down.

Sylar impatiently sits on a ratty, moth-eaten sofa, arms across his chest, already bored before the meeting has even started. The very distant sound of two heartbeats and voices snaps through his reverie brings his eyes to attention. “Bennet,” he snarls.

Sighing, Bennet does not look up from his folders as he casually mutters, “Are they here already?”

Sylar glares his response and states, “You said nothing about Suresh being here.”

“I wonder why,” Bennet replies sarcastically and he looks up to see Sylar gearing up to launch a scathing attack. Quickly Bennet says, “Calm down. You know that Mohinder is Peter’s partner and very important to our work. His research—,”

“His research, his oh so precious work…”

Bennet ignores the eye roll that comes with Sylar’s mocking tone but he cannot turn a blind eye as Sylar rises to his feet and stomps across the floor into his space.

“Suresh is no more than a useless hanger on who is in way over his head,” Sylar argues. “He doesn’t belong in this world and the sooner we stop pandering to his delusions of importance—,”

“There is nothing delusional about his importance to us. Learn to deal.”

Sylar looks to the closed door then back at Bennet who is watching him closely. “I should have killed him when I had the chance,” Sylar says firmly.

“And why didn’t you?” Bennet asks, the annoyance in his voice a contrast to the vaguely quizzical look on his face.

“Because Petrelli the damn wonder kid kept showing up,” Sylar reminds him dismissively. “Petrelli I can at least deal with, but Suresh—complete waste.”

Looking at Sylar thoughtfully Bennet replies, “I imagine the feeling’s mutual.”

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

_Mohinder pushes Sylar backwards onto the bed and crawls on top of him. Refusing to let their gaze be broken Mohinder leans down and hovers his lips just above Sylar’s, pulling back ever so slightly whenever the man below tries to complete the tease of a kiss. _

_“Mohinder,” Sylar groans with want and his hands grip Mohinder’s biceps. _

_“What?” Mohinder asks innocently but for the smirking smile at the end of the question. _

_One leg hooked around Mohinder’s hips and Sylar thrusts upwards, the friction ripping a startled but predictably wanting groan from Mohinder’s lips. Sylar’s deep reaching eyes draw Mohinder further in and he unexpectedly flips their bodies over so that he is the one gazing down on Mohinder. _

_A surprised, “Oh!” escapes Mohinder’s mouth but he shifts happily under Sylar’s weight. Reaching up his right hand to Sylar’s face he traces his fingers up his neck to his hair and brushes it back gently. “Your hair is getting longer,” Mohinder observes softly. _

_“Is that a problem?” Sylar asks flirtatiously. _

_“No,” Mohinder answers with a small smile. _

_Sylar leans down and lightly rubs their noses together knowing Mohinder loves that gesture right before they kiss. A content moan from Mohinder confirms this and Sylar captures the end of the exhalation as he takes Mohinder’s lips with his own. _

_Mohinder’s tongue seeks out Sylar’s taste causing Sylar to grin and pull back. Resting the weight of his upper body on his left arm Sylar starts to undress Mohinder with his right hand, much to Mohinder’s suddenly passive enjoyment. _

_Fingers feel along the shoulder of the jacket, down the buttons of the shirt below, popping them as he goes, wanting to get his fingers on Mohinder’s skin for a tantalizing touch before focusing on removing the clothes completely. Sylar soon realizes that Mohinder is also wearing a t-shirt below his button down shirt. _

_“Must you wear so much clothing?” Sylar asks exasperatedly as turned on by the delay in gratification as he is thwarted by it. _

_“I like seeing you work for it,” Mohinder grins and leans up to kiss Sylar as his fingers go back to work.   
_  
************ ********** ********** ********** **********   
**  
Like every other meeting, as rare as they are, Mohinder and Sylar do not acknowledge the existence of the other, preferring to deal with Peter and Bennet, until avoidance is no longer an option.

“I could always use him as practice,” Sylar deadpans about an inextricably positioned Special, Garrison Averton, known to withhold information against an array of interrogative techniques.

“Yes, because torture has been known to work so well,” Mohinder counters annoyed at how easily inhumane acts are given serious consideration.

“I was wondering how long it would be before righteous indignation made an appearance,” Sylar snarks and glares at Mohinder who returns the resentful sentiment over his shoulder.

“Oh it’s always been here, you’ve just had your head too far up your ass to realize it,” Mohinder says as Sylar stands up from the sofa in an attempt to impose his presence more forcefully in the room.

“Is that so?” Sylar questions flatly.

“Did I stutter?” Mohinder retorts and turns back to Bennet and Peter who are watching the iffy calmness of the meeting begin to unravel.

“No but I could make you—,” Sylar begins to threaten when Peter jumps in and tries to keep the meeting on track.

“We get it you two,” Peter snaps and gives Bennet a pointed look that the ex-Company man notes subtly. “So Mohinder and I will follow up with Garrison—,”

“What’s Mohinder going to do? Talk him into submission?”

Three sets of eyes, one angry and two frustrated, confront Sylar who adds a taunting, “Then again that just may work.”

Stepping into Mohinder’s space Sylar twirls the index finger of his left hand in a circular motion and jeers, “You keep going on and on and on and…”

Mohinder shifts on the spot, facing Sylar head on. A stern face with unflinching eyes, Mohinder makes a silent stand against his enemy.

“You want to hit me?” Sylar asks as more of a suggestive statement. “Too bad you don’t have the guts.”

Redirecting his eyes to Bennet, Sylar says, “Which is precisely why he shouldn’t be going after Garrison—why he shouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“We’ve already covered this Sylar,” Bennet reprimands soundly. “Stop acting like a petulant child. I’m sick of rehashing old news.”

Sylar scoffs a disapproving tone, “Right—because I’m the weak link,” as he casts hateful eyes on Mohinder.

“Get over yourself you reckless idiot,” Mohinder slams irately. “Your way is not the only way. Going in guns-a-blazing, doing anything to get any answer—who cares if it’s true or not—without any forethought for what those actions may declare to the people we’re in opposition to, with absolutely no care for the potentially dangerous consequences, is hardly a show of strength.”

“The abstract battle cry of the intellectual,” Sylar mocks mercilessly. “Theoretically sound, but practically it’s nothing more than jabberwocky. Save the academics for a symposium.”

“This is about looking at the bigger picture before you dive in head first—but what would you know about that? You’re only concerned with what you can get and how fast you can get it. No matter who it hurts,” Mohinder defiantly argues.

“Children,” Bennet says with condescending disgust.

“Shut up!” Mohinder and Sylar yell in unison.

“No, you two shut up,” Peter clarifies and pushes himself between the two increasingly tempestuous men.

“We’re going,” Peter says to Mohinder who is paying him no attention. A quick look to Bennet and Peter states, “We’ll be in touch.”

Mohinder, still in a furious showdown with Sylar, does not notice Peter placing a hand on his shoulder right before they are teleported away.

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

_Sylar sits at the kitchen table with a radio dismantled before him. Mechanical innards are displayed across the table in an orderly fashion and he meticulously examines and analyzes the pieces of the mechanism, looking for the glitch that is offsetting its ability to work. _

_It has been one hour of extreme patience that Sylar enjoys as meditative time to himself. He would be further along if not for the welcome distraction of the last thirty minutes. To his left he can feel Mohinder watching him; gazing at his fingers as they pick up, turn over and fit pieces together, reading the smooth concentration on his face as the puzzle comes together. _

_Sylar likes the sensation of Mohinder’s eyes on him especially when Mohinder thinks he does not notice. “Like what you see?” Sylar jokes and looks to Mohinder who is suddenly bolted out of his pensive observation. _

_Sylar grins at Mohinder’s incoherent response and goes back to work. Mohinder walks over and pulls out the chair to Sylar’s left, sitting down and looking at the parts that have yet to be fit together, then rests wondering eyes on Sylar. _

_“On an abstract level I get how you do this,” Mohinder says gesturing with his left hand to the table. “I can grasp how your ability functions. _

_Sylar pauses and looks up with interest at where Mohinder’s admission is going. _

_“But as something more tangible, I…” _

_Mohinder leans forward and keeps his eyes connected to Sylar’s. “I wish I could see inside you—actually see how your mind works, your pattern of brain function, the electrical connections made.” _

_“You want my intuitive aptitude,” Sylar cracks and looks back at the contraption in his hands as a rush of adulation begins. _

_“To understand yours? Yes. You really are remarkable,” Mohinder shares thoughtfully. _

_Sylar’s cheeks flush red at the appreciation for an ability that, on its own, is not so obvious or showy in nature and that the words of admiration come from Mohinder. Continuing to put the radio back together he sees Mohinder out of the corner of his eye eventually stand up. Walking around him, Mohinder trails his hand along Sylar’s shoulders, placing a kiss on the crown of his head, before heading to the living room to put on some music and type up research notes he has been procrastinating with.   
_  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

I’m aware that this is the tenth time I’m asking you this but…are you okay?” Peter asks between mouthfuls of his sandwich. He looks at Mohinder sitting next to him on the hood of the car, staring silently at the sandwich in his hands.

“Mohinder,” Peter sighs with irritation.

“I know—deal with it,” Mohinder declares harshly. “It’s all you and Bennet and Matt keep telling me. But I can’t just ignore the destruction he’s caused.”

“I know it’s not ideal,” Peter attempts to say but Mohinder keeps going.

“Don’t treat this like some minor issue to be sorted out,” Mohinder contends and he turns his directed attention to Peter. “He’s going to get us all killed, if not by The Company then by him.”

“Mohinder, you don’t have to like the guy, but he’s strong and with him on our side it makes us that much more formidable,” Peter frustratingly explains and he pushes the rest of his uneaten sandwich into the crinkled paper bag kept in place between his knees. “Surely you can grasp that logic.”

Glaring at Peter, Mohinder takes the bag from him and thrusts his own untouched sandwich inside. He stares at the bare field stretched out in front of them that is beginning to show the first new signs of life in patches of green.

“Without trying to sound self absorbed, he has tried to kill me numerous times and nearly succeeded if not for you or Matt…or even Elle. Then Bennet strikes some deal and it’s all, _‘can you put aside that he nearly decapitated you or tried to disembowel you—for the team.’_ Tell me Peter, how long do you believe Sylar can be trusted to not hurt any of us?” Mohinder asks rhetorically and Peter gazes longingly at him, unable to respond to a question he and Bennet have put off discussing since the moment they realized it would be an issue.

“There are more pertinent issues to be concerned with,” Peter says drawing an appalled look from Mohinder that he does not let throw him off his train of thought. “We see Sylar what—four, five times a year maybe? He’s doing his part—for now—and you need to focus on doing yours.”

“I’ve always done my part,” Mohinder asserts.

“I know,” Peter quickly replies to appease hurt pride. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but it is what it is.”

A pause of silence stretches out until Mohinder mumbles, “It’s unacceptable,” and he hops off the car to toss the paper bag into the garbage.

Peter listens to the pounding of his shoes as he walks away.

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

_There is blood everywhere, in an unavoidable trail across the musty green carpet up to the impersonal bed. It soaks through the blankets and sheets that will require a thorough clean up before the morning arrives. _

_Mohinder’s gasp of air, from within a battered and bruised body painted in red, comes at Peter’s touch while everyone else can only stand around in dumbfounded panic, anxious and paralyzed. _

_Back from the dead, or the brink of the unknown, Mohinder’s eyes search Peter’s as he grasps the life-saving hands still pressed to his chest. With a collected breath Mohinder calls out, “Sylar.” _

_Accusing eyes target the corner of the room by the door. Cold and detached he has been since arriving but the call of his name breaks a hold through his invisible armor. Sylar feels the demanding glares that declare their verdict of guilt as he makes his way to the bed. _

__‘Why didn’t you save him?’ _they chant. ‘_What good are you to any of us, to him?’ _they jeer. _

_He ignores Bennet and Matt. Nearer to the bed he catches Peter’s eyes briefly before seeing only Mohinder. Crawling onto the bed Sylar slides his right hand around the bloodied one and says, “I’m here Mohinder.” _

_Mohinder looks up at him with a half-smile, meant to reassure, and says through wincing pain, “It’s not your fault.” _

_A tearful sob strangles its way through Sylar’s body over the forgiveness of his weakness and he lowers his forehead to Mohinder’s. Their commiseration is abruptly halted by Bennet’s declaration, “Yes it is.” _

_“Noah,” Peter says firmly to no avail. _

_“This happened,” Bennet begins as he approaches the bed and stares at Sylar, “To get to you. This attack was a warning to you and it’s only going to get worse. I told you this would turn into a problem and here it is. You’re just lucky Peter has the balance of powers to save him…this time.” _

_Sylar, who already dislikes Bennet, in this moment despises him for vocalizing a truth prophesized long before. He squeezes Mohinder’s hand and uses his free one to cup the side of Mohinder’s face. _

_“I don’t think this is the time,” Peter suggests but is stopped by Matt’s throat clearing interruption. _

_“Noah’s right,” Matt admits, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and resting his head in his hands. “We knew this could happen and we know what needs to be done.” _

_“No,” Mohinder groans quietly and Sylar closes his eyes as their fate is debated.   
_  
********** ********** ********** ********** **********

“And another one bites the dust,” Sylar comically says as he confidently strolls down the stairwell of the condominium.

Bennet re-holsters his gun a few feet behind Sylar paying close attention to his uncompromising attitude. “Don’t get too cocky—,”

“Why not?”

Bennet is forced to a standstill as Sylar pauses before him and turns around. “You need me and you know it. You were the one who approached me with this offer because otherwise you have nothing.”

“Overconfidence,” Bennet rolls his eyes. “Your weakness will be your undoing in the end.”

Sylar smirks and continues down the stairs. “Spoken as the truly jealous man you are. Disguised in moralizing sermons, but jealous all the same.”

“Do you work hard on getting that attitude just right?” Bennet snarks and Sylar shoots glowering eyes over his shoulder. “Every part of the Resistance is important. Everyone has a purpose.”

“Here we go again,” Sylar calls out with his back to Bennet who is keeping up the steady pace behind him. “Ooooh, Parkman can read minds. Dawson can flip a cartwheel. Bishop can spin straw into gold and his daughter can kick-start your heart. How thrilling. The only one worth mentioning is Petrelli and most of the time he’s not even sure what he can do in a given moment.”

Sylar’s jesting bitterness grows stronger as he goes on. “And how can we forget the great Suresh? Significant for his absolute insignificance. If you’re going to talk about the team coming undone I suggest you start there.”

“Your animosity towards Mohinder is already noted,” Bennet replies tiredly having been through this conversation many times before. It is a price he willingly pays for Sylar’s arsenal of powers for their side but it does not make the grudging acceptance any easier to swallow. Still, the logic of Sylar’s point makes him contemplate his next words carefully.

“He’s not exactly my favourite person either but his research does deserve credit. And he has stepped up in the field when push comes to shove.”

Again Sylar stops to address Bennet directly. “Don’t give me the team speech. I have no interest in being friends with any of you.”

“I would expect nothing of the sort,” Bennet clarifies and steps around Sylar. “In fact I think it would be best if you two learned to ignore each other.”

Sylar watches Bennet move further away before offering a derisive, “No problem.”

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

_Walking away from the door, Bennet, Matt and The Haitian follow Mohinder into his apartment towards the bedroom. There is a hollowed out emptiness amongst the walls as if something has already been cut loose and tossed aside, yet not forgotten as its exorcised soul chokes off a final death rattle. _

_Mohinder sits on the edge of his bed and gazes dejectedly at his visitors looming before him in the door. Matt is the one who moves first, sitting down next to him to ensure they are all on the same page. “You understand what this means?” he asks Mohinder. _

_“Of course,” Mohinder replies clearly with a forceful edge to his tone. “And I know that it has to be done…” _

_Mohinder’s angry eyes soften at the sight of Matt’s uncertain worry painted in unmistaken broad strokes on his face. Mohinder sighs apologetically and pats Matt’s arms. “It’s difficult for me…but I do understand what needs to be done.” _

_He looks to Bennet and The Haitian with resigned acceptance. “Peter?” _

_“Is with him right now,” Bennet confirms. “I’m sorry this has to happen.” _

_“No you’re not,” Mohinder muses half serious. “But there’s no other way…is there.” _

_The hint of a question at the end stresses the eleventh hour plea for a stay that will never be granted. It punctuates the dead air then limply is reabsorbed into nothingness. _

_Looking to The Haitian, Mohinder asks, “Should I lie down? _

_“That would probably be most comfortable,” The Haitian agrees and steps towards the bed as Mohinder lies back, as if readying himself to take a nap. _

_Waiting his turn Matt stands up and moves to Bennet’s side while The Haitian leans over Mohinder’s tense form and gently places his hand against Mohinder’s forehead. Ten seconds later he swaps positions with Matt who completes the process. _

_Mohinder drifts away into sleep and Bennet steps into the living room and dials his cellphone. “Peter? Is it done?…Good.”   
_  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

Bennet tiredly nurses a cup of coffee in the window booth of a truck stop diner just outside of San Antonio. Raising the cup to his lips he looks around the half filled establishment made up of mostly truckers joking loudly with the waitresses and tourists arguing over map directions. Gazing outside the window he is nearly startled into spilling his drink when Peter pops up in front of him.

Bennet’s annoyed eyes meet Peter’s sheepish ones and Peter quickly makes his way inside. Passing by one of the waitresses he asks for a coffee and shuffles into the seat across from Bennet.

Putting his coffee down Bennet deadpans, “You really do a great job at remaining inconspicuous.”

“Sorry,” Peter apologizes. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Taking down Garrison Averton?” Bennet asks with concern over the latest assignment.

“Amongst other things,” Peter mutters but does not elaborate as the waitress approach with a pot of coffee. Nodding thanks when she finishes, he watches her walk away and looks back accusingly at Bennet.

Bennet slams his cup down harder than intended, capturing the unwanted attention of curious strangers, and leans back in his seat while keeping commanding eyes trained on Peter. “It’s been three years Peter. I had no idea it meant so much to you.”

Peter bristles at Bennet’s mocking air, not in the mood to cast ridicule on something so serious. “Don’t be an ass,” Peter derides against needlessly teasing words.

Bennet rolls his head left and right to work out the kinks from sitting stiffly for so long. Apathy keeps his shoulders low in relaxation and he taps his fingers along the laminated tabletop. With boredom he asks, “What exactly is the problem?”

As quickly as Peter opens his mouth to retort he snaps it back shut. The realization that strikes reminds him that this is not another battle in some great fight; the outcome here will not change. Instead this is a passing observation steeped in a misdirected penance of guilt that he cannot shake. His words, like a confession, are his way of recognizing what they have done—as justified as it was. But they are also a way of urging Bennet to reconfirm that what they did was the only way, that the casualties of this fight are more than empty bodies and spilled blood.

“He looks at Sylar with such unrelenting hatred,” Peter remarks more to himself than to Bennet.

Sighing, Bennet leans forward and brings his hands to the edge of the table, gripping firmly and says, “We’ve been through this before.”

“Well maybe I’m a romantic,” Peter suggests and massages his brow in contemplation.

“More of a lost cause.”

Peter shoots a frustrated glare at Bennet’s insult but does not take the bait for an attacking retort. Shaking his head he explains, “It doesn’t matter how many times I see him with Sylar, the lack of any recognition of before—,”

“Means it worked. Their…_hatred _for each other is necessary to them being alive right now. As cruel as it seems, wiping their memories was an act of kindness.”

Peter solemnly listens to Bennet’s words and even though he understands the logic of the reasoning it still does not feel like enough. Mimicking Bennet, he leans forward and grips the edge of the table, stringently proclaiming, “We did a hell of a lot more than wipe away the two years they were together. Matt—and me—planted memories we created for them. We gave them a past that never happened.”

“And Mohinder is alive because of that.”

“And I’m grateful for that, we all are.”

“But?”

Peter reflects on the last three year that he has been partnered with Mohinder. In their friendship he has been privy to the pendulum swings of emotion that presented in such stark contrast to the years that had come before.

“I hate that the only way we could do it was to take away his happiest years,” Peter sounds off and he raises his hand to cut short the quick interruption he can see building up on Bennet’s face, mouth opening and closing—one, two, three times—unable to get a word out edgewise. “I don’t care about Sylar not knowing any better because I don’t think he really deserves it, but Mohinder…”

“Happiest years?” Bennet manages to scoff. “That’s a strange notion considering who they were before.”

“That’s your problem Noah. You never looked closely—just enough to see the surface of things. You’re right that they didn’t make sense, but I saw them together and I know without a doubt that they were in love. I don’t need to know the specifics of what shifted to know…to understand…that _that _was real.”

The hard choice that had to be made three years earlier still hangs around their necks like an iron weight. Two lives spared, or at the very least prolonged, are the daily reminders. Bennet finds a solace in repeating that the ends justify the means. He numerously waxes poetic about sacrifices but he is groomed for this life unlike the others and his rationalizations fall on deaf or questioning ears more often than they hit their mark.

The silence that ensues is awkwardly heavy and it disturbs an already unsteady imbalance. In its own way the silences are as honest as anything else.

Peter fidgets the cup on the table between the fingers of both hands and, staring into the dark brown liquid, he says, “As much as they agreed to it, knowing what it meant, I still feel for Mohinder because he deserves that happiness. I feel for him because he doesn’t know any better—we made sure of that…I’m angry for him because he doesn’t know he should be.”

A thoughtful moment passes until Bennet feels he can respond to Peter’s personal declaration. “Then be angry for him. But he—they—can never remember who they were to each other. Who they are now—,”

“Is our creation, not who they naturally would have become if we had simply removed their memories.”

“Which is precisely why we had to insert very specific ones, as malicious as they were. You know full well we couldn’t risk them…reconnecting.”

Bennet’s unyielding words cut through Peter’s wallowing mindlessness. It is a repetitive cycle of exposition that Bennet has shrewdly yet exhaustively had to deal with many times. The bigger picture in mind helps to keep his tongue in check, but he can see his words only offer a temporary reprieve for Peter. Bennet chalks it up to the price of working with an empath.

“Are we good?” Bennet finally asks and Peter takes a long sip of coffee as he formulates an acceptable answer.

Catching Bennet’s questioning eyes refusing to look away without some closure, Peter lowers the cup and replies, “Yes…for now…how’s Sylar doing?”

Bennet muffles a laugh and sits back, pushing his cup aside. “As obnoxious as usual…but he gets the job done so…”

“Mohinder’s adamant that Sylar will turn on us as soon as he’s in a position to do so,” Peter shares laying his cup down and folding his arms across his chest.

A small smile twitches on Bennet’s face and he admits, “Mohinder’s right, but it’s not something we can worry ourselves with right now. In any case I’ve got an idea.”

The transformation from vaguely amused to serious plays out with distinction on Peter’s face. “You always do,” he says and moves to the end of the booth’s bench, perched to stand up. “I’ve got to go. Mohinder and I have a busy day today.”

“Don’t bend to temptation,” Bennet suddenly says sounding unexpectedly heartfelt, causing Peter to wonder if he if is thinking about the sacrifices he had to make with Sandra, Claire and Lyle. “The happiness it may provide will not last. The best thing you can do for Mohinder is to accept him as he is now—same thing with Sylar.”

Halfway out of the booth Peter stares at the diner’s interior and the splattering of people going about their business. “Thanks for the coffee,” he utters and stands up, heading out.

Bennet watches him take two steps out the door, disappearing before it clicks shut. Pulling out his wallet he tosses a couple of bills on the table, thinking that Sylar will be in an interrogative mood to find out where he has been. He thoughtfully selects which story to use this time and makes his way to the door. Just like Peter with Mohinder, Bennet has had to negotiate on a daily basis the line he treads with Sylar, avoiding any indications of the true past while keeping all eyes focused on the future by way of a Frankenstein present.

Discarded hope and amputated love litter the path. It is a price they have all willingly paid, whether they remember it or not. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mylar Fic Awards  
> **Nominated for Best Use of Dialogue** (RUNNER UP, tied)  
> **Nominated for Best Haitianization**
> 
> Heroes Slash Awards  
> **Nominated for Best Overall Fic  
> **Nominated for Best Angst Fic  
> **Nominated for Best One Shot


End file.
